


sleepy

by killerqueenwrites



Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pepper Potts Is Rescue, Protective Tony Stark, Sleepy Peter Parker, rhodey is done wih these two idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: They just wanted lunch.In hindsight, Tony should have noticed something was wrong. Now he has to stay awake. He has to protect Peter.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016994
Comments: 13
Kudos: 300





	sleepy

**Author's Note:**

> if you're subscribed to me, sorry for the spam you're getting. i'm reuploading my irondad bingo one-shots as individual stories to make it easier for people to find them and so they can be stories in their own right. [ they were originally posted here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/45168637)
> 
> me? incapable of writing simple fluff? it's more likely than you think. also written during a heatwave so i was Projecting

They just wanted lunch.

In hindsight, Tony should have noticed something wrong when their server looked at them with more than the usual amount of interest. He should have noticed the slightly strange aftertaste in his burger. He should have noticed when he blinked and, for a second, there were two Peters sitting across the table from him.

“So? Was I right?” Peter is watching him expectantly as they walk back to the car. It’s sweltering, the horrible kind of sticky, humid heat that Tony would very much like to make illegal.

“They _are_ good burgers. Fries tasted a little off, though.” Tony wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah, they’re normally better than that.” They step into the welcome shade of the parking garage. Peter looks around with a frown and rubs his neck, but keeps talking. “I even tried a vegan burger that MJ got once, and that was great.”

“Mm,” Tony manages. He’s so _tired_. Is this a sign of getting older, random urges to have a nap in the middle of the day? Maybe he should let Peter drive the car home – where’s the car?

“–and their sweet potato fries–“ Peter breaks off and swallows. “Oh. Um. I really don’t feel great.”

“Y’better not have food poisoning.” It’s a struggle to even get the words out. _He can’t find the car._ “Or heatstroke.”

“D’n’…” Peter stumbles, almost falling sideways into Tony. “No, s’m’th’n’s… _wrong_. Misser S’ark?”

An engine roars and tyres screech behind them. Tony turns – sluggish, too slow – and Peter lets out a weak yelp as he’s tugged away.

“No,” Tony grunts, and he’s almost grateful when he’s manhandled towards the van as well.

“You putting them in together?”

“What else am I gonna do? Besides.” A hand grips Peter’s hair and tugs his head up; the kid’s eyes are closed and, when he’s released, his chin slips straight back onto his chest. “They’re both out. They can’t do anything.”

Tony only closes his eyes for a second but when he squints them open again it’s dark and warm. He reaches out and finds a limp arm; his hands travel up until they’re patting clumsily at someone’s face and hair. “…Pete?”

“No, no,” Peter mumbles, rolling over as the darkness rattles and jerks. “‘M sleepin’, leave me ‘lone.”

“Pete…” Tony’s mouth is stuffed with cotton: “wake up, kid. C’mon, you gotta…gotta…”

Their prison jolts again and Peter’s arm slips out of his sweaty fingers.

“No,” Tony moans. He can’t let go of Peter, because that means red dirt and orange sunsets and ash–

The darkness is coming, rising up in a cold wave, and it crashes down before he can even think about fighting it.

* * *

Peter wakes up sweating.

He’s face down on something hard, his arm painfully numb from where it’s resting underneath him. His brain is moving sluggishly, each thought catching like cogs in a rusty gear, so he doesn’t even flinch when someone speaks inches away from his ear.

“Thought I saw him move.”

“No need to worry, they’ll be out for hours.”

“‘Specially the kid, he’s tiny.”

Peter holds very still.

“What’s the point of having Iron Man and keeping him knocked out?”

“What, you want to wake him up and let him bust out?”

“No, moron. I thought that’s what the kid was for. Leverage.”

Well, _shit_.

“It’s to disorient him. Keep them both quiet and docile for a few days, and then make our demands.”

“Yeah, which are?”

“Dependent on how much he wants to keep the kid safe.”

“Huh. Smart.”

“I know, that’s why I’m in charge. Now, can you fuckwits go do something useful?”

Peter wants so badly to drift off again, but he has to stay awake. He’s their best hope; he’s fast and strong and…sticky?

Best hope of what? What happened? Where is he?

He manages to peel open one eye, the one that isn’t pressed into the solid floor, and squints at the slumped figure beside him.

_Mr Stark_. Peter reaches out a hand, unable to manage anything more than a whimper. _Mr Stark, please. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what happened._

“Hey…”

“The fuck? How is he awake?”

“We’ll figure it out. Just restrain him or something.”

They’re moving him and Peter doesn’t have enough strength in his limbs to fight back; he struggles anyway. It’s weak, but Peter’s weak isn’t the same as someone else’s weak.

“Whoa–!”

His panicked burst of energy is almost spent, his knees are buckling beneath him, and he can’t do anything but watch as dark figures stalk towards Mr Stark.

_Stay awake_. They have to get out of here.

* * *

Tony wakes up when he’s roughly dropped on his right arm, and can’t stop a garbled shout of pain. His arm still hasn’t healed from…something. Something big and important, but he can’t quite grasp it right now.

“Stop it!”

Peter. Why is Peter here? Why is he yelling? Why can’t Tony open his eyes?

“No – let me go – Mr Stark!”

“Shit, he’s strong–“

“I thought he was supposed to stay knocked out?”

“Hey, Stark.” Something solid hits Tony’s ribs, making him grunt. “Your kid’s making trouble. Come sort him out.”

“I said leave him alone,” Peter spits.

Tony forces his eyes open, finding a damp, grey floor beneath him, and rolls over. Peter is struggling in the grip of two black-clad men, his pupils blown and his movements sluggish.

“Mr Stark!”

So Peter’s here, which is bad, but also good, because it means he’s _here_. Where had he gone? Had Tony lost him?

“Look, kid, he’s fine, so stop whining and go back to sleep.”

“No, no–“ There’s real panic in Peter’s eyes, and it’s bleeding through to Tony as well. “I don’t – what’s happening–? Where–?”

“He’s confused,” someone mutters.

“Yeah, and way more awake than he should be.”

“Well, just–“

Someone’s lays a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder and the kid _freaks_. He jolts, shoving the men away hard enough that they crash into the wall with shouts of pain and slump to the ground.

Peter staggers forward, falling to his knees in front of Tony. “We gotta – Mr Stark, we have to go–“ He shakes his head and blinks a couple of times. “Can you – Mr Stark, can you hear me? I don’t…don’t think I can carry you, ‘m sorry.”

Tony squints. He knows Peter just said something, and it was probably important, but he can’t remember for the life of him what it was. All he knows is Peter is in front of him, looking small and scared, and Tony loves him so much.

“–Stark? Mr Stark, c’mon, please, sir. I know they gave us some…some really strong stuff but if we just–“ Peter breaks off with a gasp.

Tony opens his mouth three times before he finds his voice. “…kid?”

“Oh,” Peter mumbles, and then he falls, his arms giving way so he keels forward and smacks his head on Tony’s outstretched arm.

“Oh, _shit_.”

“How much did you give him?”

“I ain’t going down for murder.”

“We need that kid, dumbass.”

“Peter,” Tony grunts, “ _Peter_.”

Peter doesn’t move, not even a twitch. Tony drags himself along the ground, each muscle limp and close to useless, until his body is lying in a way that allows him to pull Peter against his chest.

“Should we…I don’t know, watch them? What if the kid dies?”

“He’s not going to die.”

“How much did you _give_ him?”

“Just leave them, guys. We’ll get what we want when they’re both awake.”

That’s…that’s _bad_. They’re going to use Peter, he knows it, exploit every ounce of Tony’s love for him. He doesn’t know who they are or what they want, but there’s only one reason he can come up with as to why they took Peter too.

Well, not if Tony holds on tight enough.

“I got you,” he mumbles into the sweaty mess of curls. Peter doesn’t stir. “Won’ let them hurt you, promise.”

_Stay awake._ He has to stay awake. He has to protect Peter. He’s so damn tired though; his eyes keep slipping shut against his will and the shouts around him seem further and further away, echoing off the inside of his skull.

Shouts? It’s loud. People are yelling. There’s banging and crashing.

_Danger_. Tony forces his arms to tug Peter a little closer.

“Hey, you can let go. Tones. _Tony_ , can you hear me?”

That’s a familiar voice, one Tony trusts, but he still has to keep Peter close.

“You can let go of him, okay? You’re both safe now.”

“Honey, are you okay? What’s wrong with them, Rhodey?” Another voice he knows.

One of Tony’s eyelids is forced open despite his grunt of protest. Everything is a colourful blur.

“Jesus, look at his eyes. And the kid.” Peter whines and Tony’s fingers reflexively tighten in his hair. “They’re both drugged to hell.”

“Okay, let’s get them out of here.” A gentle hand passes across Tony’s forehead. “Let go of Peter, honey.”

“No…”

“Tony, it’s us, man. We’ll take care of you and the kid. Just let us–“

Tony growls and pulls Peter against his chest. _You’re not having him._

“Oh, yeah, real mature. You a fucking cat or what?”

“We’re just going to have to carry them together, Rhodey.”

“Sure, whatever. You got them?”

The ground disappears from beneath Tony; the metal arms that encircle him and Peter are blessedly cool.

“Just relax, Tony. You’re safe now.”

Tony spares a second to make sure Peter’s secure before dropping off again. _I got you._

* * *

Peter wakes up cold.

It shouldn’t be a huge surprise, given his (by this point) well-documented struggle with thermoregulation, but for some reason, a reason that slips away every time he tries to grasp it, he’s surprised.

Why?

It’s because he should be hot.

The diner. The cell. _Mr Stark._

He opens his eyes, jack-knifing off the bed, and his stomach rolls in protest.

“Hey, hey! Steady, kid, you’re fine, you’re safe.”

Peter stills, breathing hard, and his sluggish brain takes a second to compute what’s happening. “…Colonel Rhodes?”

“That’s me.” Rhodey’s presence is welcome, calming, slowing Peter’s racing heart, but it’s not the one he wants. “Just lay back, okay? You need to rest.”

Rest sounds good. Great. Awesome, in fact. Except…

“Where – Mr Stark? What–?”

“Everything’s fine,” Rhodey says, his voice soothing, and Peter lies back against the bed.

Bed. He’s in a bed.

“You’re in the Medbay. Pepper and I found you both. You remember that?”

Peter shakes his head. He could sleep for a year, forever.

“Yeah, no wonder. Your pupils could’ve fit a whole planet in them. Whoever took you, they doped you both up with something real strong, and then I guess they gave you a little extra, because you were _out_ of it. Dehydrated as well.”

“Oh.” That makes sense, he supposes. He burns through drugs quickly. And it was _hot_.

“Yeah,” Rhodey agrees with a nod. “Come on, just sleep it off.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Peter mumbles, and his eyes slip shut of their own accord but he’s not about to argue.

“That’s it, kid.” His blanket moves by itself, tucking over his chest and around his shoulders. “You’re all right now.”

Peter has every intention of going back to sleep – he _does_ – and he totally would have, if there weren’t a strained groan from somewhere beside him.

“Oh, hey, Tones. Whoa, whoa, look at me. You’re good, yeah? Just chill out–“

“No,” Mr Stark mumbles.

“ _Yes_ , Tony. God, I forget how much of a stubborn ass you are when you’re tired.”

“Need…”

“You _need_ to sleep.”

“Pete – Peter–“

“He’s right next to you, man. Just sleep a little longer, okay?”

“No,” Mr Stark grunts, and Peter _giggles_. It’s _funny_. “No, Rhodey, where’s Peter?”

“He’s right – right next to you, like I just told you, and – of course you just got out of bed, because you never listen to a damn word I say.”

Peter squints open one eye to find Mr Stark staggering towards him. He catches himself on the edge of Peter’s bed, swaying slightly.

“Hey, Misser S’ark.”

“Kid.” Mr Stark reaches out a clumsy hand and pats Peter’s cheek. “‘Kay, good. You’re here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tones.” Rhodey covers his face with his hand. “Tony, get back into bed. You still need to sleep off whatever the hell they gave you–“

“Mm, sleep,” Mr Stark agrees, and then he’s climbing into the narrow bed beside Peter, squeezing himself into the remaining space. Peter, for his part, is suddenly pleasantly warm and cosy, so he can’t understand why Rhodey’s making such a fuss.

“Aw, jeez, Helen’s gonna kill me.”

“No, no killing,” Mr Stark mumbles. His hand finds its way to Peter’s head again and rests there. “Mm, yep, all’n one piece. Good kid, my kid…my good kid.”

“FRIDAY, I hope you’re recording this.”

_“Of course, Colonel Rhodes.”_

“My kid,” Mr Stark says again, and for some reason a warm feeling starts to spread through Peter’s chest. “Here, safe, no – no space, no Europe, no SHIELD, no big fire monsters or crazy aliens. Stay here…stay…’ll keep you safe.”

Peter rolls over and nestles into Mr Stark’s chest; it’s warm and safe and he doesn’t want him to go anywhere. “See, ‘m sticking t’you. Can’ leave.”

Rhodey groans. “Okay, fine. Stay there, both of you. Don’t come crying when Helen kicks your ass for it.”

“‘S’fine,” Mr Stark breathes out, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Don’ worry, kid, ‘ll protec’ you.”

“‘Kay.” From what, Peter isn’t so sure, but he trusts Mr Stark anyway. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“Yeah, okay, you two are sweet,” Rhodey’s voice drawls. “Now will you both just – stay there while I go tell everyone you’re okay?”

Of course they’re going to stay. Why would they move? Peter can’t quite get all that out, so he settles for a sleepy grunt.

“I will send Pepper in to keep you in line, don’t think I won’t.” There’s a beat of silence before Rhodey’s footsteps head towards the door. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mr Stark threads his fingers into Peter’s hair. It’s clumsy but still reassuring, grounding. “Hey. Hey, Pete.”

“Mm?”

“Y’never tol’ me ‘bout the – the sweet potato fries.”

That’s a vague memory, more like a dream, fuzzy and distorted. “Oh. Um…they’re really good?”

Mr Stark says nothing, but another long breath dances through Peter’s curls, followed by a soft snore. Peter lets the familiar sound and the tempting drowsiness lull him back to sleep.

Mr Stark is here, and he’ll be here when Peter wakes up. He always is, one way or another.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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